I decided to find out using Rhapsody’s internal reports. The music service generates a weekly spreadsheet that ranks artists according to the amount of “plays,” or the number of times the artists’ releases are streamed. The top 100 artists for each genre and sub-genre, which number over 200, can be viewed on the Rhapsody website, including the main list, the Rap/Hip-Hop list, and the Indie Rap/Hip-Hop list.

Due to cataloging purposes, indie-rap artists aren’t only listed under the Indie Rap/Hip-Hop sub-genre. Some, such as Flying Lotus, are filed under Instrumental Rap/Hip-Hop, which is cataloged separately. Non-indie artists like Drake are listed under multiple sub-genres, including Hitmakers, Pop, Indie Rap and Contemporary R&B. As a result, his releases skew the website’s Indie Rap rankings. The “indie” term can be a catchall, it seems, not only referring to typical “backpacker” artists on independent labels but also “alternative” major label artists as well.

In order to develop a more accurate list, or at least one that’s more revealing in terms of the most popular indie-rap artists, I bypassed the website rankings and used the weekly spreadsheet.

Nearly all music databases are subject to tampering, and Rhapsody is no exception. Hundreds of musicians — mostly rappers, it seems — try to “game” the system by using software to artificially boost their “plays.” I didn’t include these guys in my list, and I won’t give them any publicity by mentioning their names, either.

I used the January 10 spreadsheet for my list. The report gives weight to artists who issued new work in the fall. However, January is the slowest music month of the year — January 11 is the first week when anything of note is released — so it’s probably the best time to calculate who enjoys the most popularity at the moment. Quibbles aside, these rankings are a great indicator.

Still, good music is good music – or is it? This year brought quite a few albums that divided audiences and critics. They made us question what makes up quality hip-hop, and whether that term exists in a classical sense anymore. Is it B.o.B and his overly determined forays into big-tent arena rap? Or is it the bloviating Rick Ross and his fatuous tales of Mafia-like dominion? As rap fans with a jaundiced version of reality, we’re supposed to venerate the latter and condemn B.o.B’s crossover strategies. Street rap signifies the underground, keeping it hardcore, and staying true.

However, there wasn’t much actual underground music in 2010, or at least little of it that made an impact. We all know what happened to Definitive Jux. Even Fat Beats, which closed its remaining stores in New York and Los Angeles to focus on online retail and an independent label, needed Decon Records and E1 Music to get Black Milk’s Album of the Year in stores. With the notable exceptions of Stones Throw and Duck Down Records, surviving indie labels such as Mello Music Group, Interdependent Media, Tres Records, Galapagos4, Doomtree Records, Fake Four, Inc. and many others drew cursory attention.

To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention, either. The action was with the majors such as Def Jam, which brought Curren$y (albeit via a distribution deal with Damon Dash and DD172), the Roots, Big Boi, and Kanye West. These were the albums I repeatedly listened to, wrote about, praised, criticized, and generally wrestled with.

Let me return to Definitive Jux for a moment. When El-P established the label ten years ago (after cropping up on late-period Company Flow releases such as Little Johnny from the Hospitul) with the classic Company Flow/Cannibal Ox double 12-inch single “D.P.A. (As Heard on TV)”/”Iron Galaxy,” he joined a scene that prided itself on creating a sound unheard on the radio, and unseen on BET. I’m not the only one who found irony in the fact that criminally underrated artist Tim “Sole” Holland left his Anticon start-up around the same time that El-P put Definitive Jux on hiatus. Though rivals, both exemplified a mood of wild (and often undisciplined) experimentation that has since receded. In its place has risen old-school revivalism, an ethos carried from the college dorms to the streets, and often accompanied by a moralistic, finger-wagging dismissal of post-Golden Age rap.

Nostalgia may fuel online repositories of boom bap and Dirty South. But when indulged too often, it can lead to a culture’s death. No one wants hip-hop to become the post-modern equivalent of jazz. As much as I loved it, I certainly don’t want to return to the summer of 2001, and The Cold Vein and cLOUDDEAD. I also don’t hold illusions that indie hip-hop is ideologically or musically better than mainstream, major label-backed rap. 2010 exposed the lie to that myth.

Besides, this was a great year for hip-hop. While I focused on crossover epics and, to a lesser extent, the international beats ‘n’ bass scene, others found pleasure in the many excellent mixtapes that hit the Internets. In short, there was a little something for everybody.

However, no epoch is all-inclusive, and I missed the sundry underground innovators of years past. Where are you at, my friends? It’s time to step your game up.

Ghostface Killah treads familiar ground on Apollo Kids, offering few if any hooks or choruses, long-winded sixteen-bar verses that could double as freestyles, and crusty soul loops as an accompaniment. Even the title pays homage to a single from his classic Supreme Clientele. He’s capable of more sophisticated stuff, as fans of past peaks like Fishscale will attest. To spice things up, Ghost recruits street-hop stars like Joell Ortiz, Busta Rhymes, Jim Jones and various Wu-Tang affiliates. Highlights include “Troublemakers,” “Street Bullies” and “Starkology.”

Owl is proudly out of step with the rap race, but Qwel & Maker’s classical hip-hop values deserve a wide audience. A prickly veteran of Chicago’s indie-ground, Qwel rhymes in splendidly discursive statements, but has learned to dial back his loquaciousness. The underrated producer Maker complements Qwel with detailed soul collages, but doesn’t overwhelm his morality tales on “The Game” and “Gin River,” the latter a poignant story of a lost girl searching for a father figure. They work in close harmony, taking Owl from the gloriously weary tour diary “El Camino” to the hard grooves of “Gambling Man.”

Chilean rapera Ana Tijoux’s second album doesn’t sound like anything current. It’s antiquated, recalling 1990s jazzbo classics such as MC Solaar’s Prose Combat and Digable Planets’ Reachin’ (A New Refutation of Time and Space). Hordatoj and Foex’s beats create a quiet space for songs like the politically-themed “Sube” and the modestly boastful title track, and Tijoux sometimes whispers her rhymes as if she’s rapping in a library. This may sound terribly boring, but it’s not. Tijoux’s 1977 is a cool delight, and her impressive lyrical performance will draw you in whether you speak her language or not.

It has taken a decade for Talib Kweli and DJ Hi-Tek to resume their partnership, but Revolutions Per Minute sounds like the two never parted. In spite of his freelance assignments for G-Unit and other thug rappers, Hi-Tek resurrects Reflection Eternal’s jazzy hip-hop with ease. Kweli chimes in with topical songs, from the excellent “Ballad of the Black Gold” to the revolutionary call “In This World.” On “Just Begun,” the two lend the spotlight to Jay Electronica and J. Cole, two newer voices and the inheritors to Reflection Eternal’s legacy of conscious hip-hop.

Though based in Los Angeles, Flying Lotus has the trend-absorbing drive of a European electronic producer. His 2008 breakthrough, Los Angeles, deconstructed UK dubstep and bass; but Cosmogramma turns to the future soul of his native city, and the spiritual house music of Theo Parrish. During its quieter songs like “MmmHmm,” he allows bassist Stephen “Thundercat” Bruner and harpist Rebekah Raff to take over several passages. But even Thom Yorke, who appears for an inspired vocal on “…And the World Laughs with You” can’t overshadow Flying Lotus, whose sound signature on this surprisingly reflective work is indelible.

Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager doesn’t have anything as catchy as “Day ‘n’ Nite,” but it consistently hits the sweet spot with tracks like “Scott Mescudi vs. the World” and “Don’t Play This Song.” It’s moodier than Man on the Moon, too. Throughout, he ruminates over loneliness and fame’s toll while fans ask “Can we tag along?/ Can we take the journey?” Kid Cudi clearly has a high opinion of himself (pun intended), but he seems less of an egoist than his mentor Kanye West (who appears on the divisive “Erase Me”). And with his unique hybrid of emo, hip-hop, and contemporary R&B, he truly sounds like no other.

Three albums deep, the Foreign Exchange has established its formula. Phonte Coleman sings yearning melodies; Nicolay produces contemporary soul with a hint of New Age and jazz-fusion. On Authenticity, Phonte continues to improve as a vocalist, breathily cooing “Fight for Love” with confidence, and holding his own with guests like Muhsinah (“Laughing At Your Plans”) and Yahzarah (“This City Ain’t The Same Without You”). Meanwhile, Nicolay remains an inventive producer, inflecting his smooth tracks with small touches like twangy guitar and emphatic piano notes without losing focus of Authenticity’s dreamy mood.

Bilal’s first recording in nearly a decade is a remarkable evolution from his earlier incarnation as a neo-soul balladeer. By tapping into the West Coast’s blooming indie-soul circuit for Airtight’s Garage, he has created an unpredictable and surprisingly provocative work. “Who Are You” shifts from a idyllic soft-rock groove into lazy roots reggae; on “Flying” he sings about a drug-addicted woman in frank language (with help from producer Nottz), evoking Stevie Wonder’s classic morality plays. Airtight’s Garage has stunning musical twists, but Bilal holds the spotlight with an impassioned performance, elevating this album above production trickery into something rarefied and special.

Rick Ross is known for farcical claims – remember when he said he knew Manuel Noriega on his breakthrough hit “Hustlin’”? For Teflon Don, he compares himself to infamous criminals Larry Hoover and Big Meech on “B.M.F. (Blowin’ Money Fast),” and on “Tears of Joy” he says he’s “Biggie Smalls in the flesh.” Lyrically, Rick Ross has improved since his mush-mouthed “Hustlin’” days, and shines amidst the best beats and guest stars money can buy. In fact, some “conscious hip-hop” fans will be disheartened that Erykah Badu, Cee-Lo, and Raphael Saddiq are just a few that gladly sold out for the almighty Teflon Don.

On his first album in four years, L.A.’s Aloe Blacc travels further from his hip-hop roots. Years ago, he was a rapper in the indie group Emanon and a sometime-vocalist; on Good Things, he’s working over arrangements from retro-soul combo Truth & Soul with heartfelt emotion. Unlike most rappers-turned-singers, Aloe Blacc has a great voice, which he uses to striking effect on “Take Me Back” and “Mama Hold My Hand.” The excellent Good Things teems with highlights, particularly the viral hit “I Need a Dollar,” where he impersonates a homeless drunk to offer commentary on the great recession.

More than an audacious claim, Black Milk’s Album of the Year chronicles a period of tragedy, including his friend and Slum Village member Baatin’s passing in 2009, and adjusting to indie stardom (addressed on “Over Again”). Black Milk’s popularity can be attributed to his outstanding production skills, mixing live instrumentation with classic Detroit sampling techniques for the killer “365,” and vowing to “save the game like a memory card.” While some will quibble that Album of the Year isn’t as good as his 2008 instant classic Tronic, this strong follow-up confirms that the rapper/producer is “not like Stevie, more like Wonder, because I’m all about the bread.”

“I had a vision to put us all back together,” raps T-3 on “The Reunion Pt. 2” from Slum Village’s Villa Manifesto. But much has changed since the group’s 2005 self-titled album: J Dilla passed away in 2006, and then Baatin died from a drug overdose three years later. Both get the spotlight through pre-recorded material, and when the quartet shines together on the kinetic “Earl Flynn,” it’s Fantastic all over again. Wisely, surviving members T-3 and Elzhi balance bittersweet memories (“We’ll Show You”) with the sumptuous neo-soul raps SV fans know and love them for.

It’s a wonder Big Boi’s Sir Lucious Leftfoot made it to stores. Four years of untangling industry red tape has taken its toll, and its missing several early singles, including key tracks with his OutKast partner Andre 3000. What’s left of this long-delayed solo debut is very hit-or-miss. The 15-track, hour-plus album teems with guests – from Jamie Foxx and George Clinton to Janelle Monae and Yelawolf – but generates precious little synergy. However, it has enough highlights, including the futuristic funk of “Shutterbugg,” “Night Night” with B.o.B., and “Shine Blockas” with Gucci Mane, to make the wait seem worthwhile.

“How I did end up here with you?” asks Drake on “Show Me a Good Time.” Thank Me Later answers the question, weaving between a melodic croon delivered over muted balladry and lyrical allusions to nascent superstardom. “I avoided the Coke game and went with Sprite instead,” he raps on “The Resistance,” acknowledging his marketability and clean-cut image. Predictably, famous well wishers like Jay-Z and Alicia Keys appear. But this is Drake’s hour, and his introspective musings, deployed on standouts “Fireworks,” makes this an engaging and occasionally spectacular debut.

Now back in the underground, Rhymefest no longer dreams of Kanye-assisted stardom. That’s a good thing, because El Che sounds less compromised than his 2006 debut, Blue Collar. It has all of the lyrical flights of fancy the Chicago MC is known for, but none of the awkward pop strains that blotted past singles like “Fire.” And while it has a modest political component – on “Truth on You” Rhymefest compares people around the world to activists-in-training — El Che mostly delivers “Prosperity,” “How High,” and other raps with an optimistic, melodic perspective.

Bedford Park is a long overdue coda to a project poet, rapper, and musician Mike Ladd began way back in 2001. Back then, he posited Infesticons as a revolutionary force battling corporate interests and mainstream sellouts (or “Majesticons”). He’s still righteous – check out the M.I.A.-inspired “Bombs Anthem” – but his palette has expanded beyond East Coast underground rap and electro-funk. R&B (“Forever Anthem”), avant-rock (“Blockin’ Door Anthem”), and even a trap rap parody (“Hang It Up Anthem”) fuel this scattershot yet undeniably exciting exploration of the contemporary music scene.

“This one right here is for the people,” announces Nas at the beginning of “Patience.” It’s an ethos that carries throughout Distant Relatives, his long-awaited collaboration with Damian Marley, as the two focus relentlessly on issues political and social, domestic and international. Lyrically, both are at the top of their game, even if many of the tunes – including the excellent “As We Enter” – sound more like chop sessions than full-fledged songs. The music is tasteful and complementary (if slightly bland), making this an intriguingly mature release from the Queensbridge MC and a triumphant post-Jamrock return for “Jr. Gong.”